Clarissa couldn’t believe she was letting Edwin take advantage. But he kept coming to her defense with Durand even when it ruined his own plans, and it made him so . . . so endearing.
That was the only reason she clung to him and pressed herself against him, the only reason her blood was racing and her heart hammering and her body heating to boiling. Gratitude for what he’d done, that’s all.
Even she wasn’t fool enough to believe that assertion.
Breaking the kiss, she turned to face the mirror and tried to get hold of herself. “We must stop. Someone might see us.”
“Nonsense. We’re out of sight of the hallway.” He slid his arm about her waist to draw her back against him. “They’d have to enter the room.”
He wasn’t lying, judging from what she saw in the mirror.
“Even if they did,” he murmured against her hair, “they wouldn’t say anything to anyone. They’re theater people—they mind their own business.”
When he kissed a path along her bare shoulder, alarm briefly skittered down her spine. But his arm held her lightly, so lightly, and his kisses were tender, coaxing. For once, what uncurled in her wasn’t panic or fear.
“Besides,” he added, “we’re engaged.”
“Not . . . really.”
His gaze locked with hers in the mirror as he stroked one finger along the edge of her bodice. “We could be.”
She was so intent on what he was doing with his finger that his words didn’t quite register. “We could be what?”
“Really engaged. To each other.” His finger dipped just beneath the edge to skim over the rise of her breasts in a slow caress. Watching him do it in the mirror made it so erotic that she had to plant one hand on the dressing table just to keep steady. “Why . . . Why would we . . . do that?” she choked out.
“I need a wife.” He nuzzled her ear. “You need protection from Durand. It would make things simpler.”
“Except that I don’t want to marry anybody, even you.” Though the words sounded hollow in her ears.
He slid his hand inside her bodice. “Only because you don’t realize the advantages of it.”
She was finding it hard to breathe. “For whom?”
A lazy smile played over his lips, and he pulled down the cup of her stays inside her bodice to bare her breast to his hand. “For us both.”
As he covered it, she caught his wrist. “Edwin, what are you doing?” But she knew, and it felt awfully pleasurable. Then again, it always did at the beginning. It was later, when the man grew rough . . .
“I’m doing what I’ve craved for years—touching you,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers in the mirror. “To show you what it could be like between us.”
Her nipple was pebbling beneath his hand, belying her caution. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
When she tightened her grip on his wrist, he stopped moving his hand. “I promise not to hurt you.”
Still, his expression, full of heat and want, gave her pause. When the Vile Seducer had fondled her breasts years ago, it had started out pleasantly enough. But then she’d protested and he’d ignored her and the whole experience had rapidly twisted into . . .
That won’t happen, she reminded herself. For one thing, Edwin was at her back and they were standing—she could fight him off much more easily. There were people on the other side of the wall, and hatpins on the dressing table that she could use to stab his arm. She was probably safer here with him than she’d ever been with any other man.
Besides, the way he waited patiently for her permission before he would continue reassured her that if she so much as tugged on his hand, he would stop this right now. But if she did that, she might never have another chance to explore these things with him.
Did she want to explore these things with him?
Yes. Oh, yes.
She released his wrist.
For half a second she feared she might regret it, because something dark and daring glittered in his eyes. But before she could react to that, he turned her head to the side with his free hand so he could kiss her mouth over her shoulder.
Then he was devouring her lips, and his hand was fondling her and it felt so astonishing that she soon found herself pressing her breast willingly into his palm. With a low groan, he kneaded it so deftly that it made her feel urges she’d denied herself for years. They were sweet and hot and rousing and all the things she’d never thought to feel again.
She turned into his arms and his hand fell away from her, but only so he could hoist her onto the dressing table. “Edwin!”
“Yes, minx?” He began kissing his way down into the valley between her breasts. “I want to taste you. Will you let me?”
“A-all right.” Her blood howled through her veins, wanting things, needing things. She was living dangerously now, but she had to know, had to see if Edwin would push and prod his way past her walls.
Half of her wanted him to. The other half was terrified he would.